


Sunburns

by WinterFire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Drarry, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Post-War, Top Harry, and maybe a lil jealous, draco is Confused, draco is NOT turned on by this, harry is friends with narcissa?, harry is lost(tm), harry potter is a powerful sonofabitch, its not a slow burn its more like a medium burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterFire/pseuds/WinterFire
Summary: Harry kept Draco and Narcissa Malfoy out of Azkaban, and he thinks maybe Draco shouldn't hate him for that. Draco is tired of living the life Harry Potter chose for him, but what other choice does he have?Or, in which Harry starts corresponding with Narcissa and starts to understand Draco better.





	1. Chapter 1

Draco still wasn’t used to taking his copy of the  _ Prophet _ from the delivery owl and seeing something other than Harry Potter’s face plastered across the front page. Not that he was used to seeing Harry Potter’s face, but the past several years had seen him featured in the  _ Prophet _ far more than anyone or anything else. 

At first, the  _ Prophet _ had continued running stories on the Boy Who Lived. None of the public had seen hide nor hair of him since testifying at all three Malfoy’s trials. Even Rita Skeeter couldn’t track him down - not for lack of trying, of course. People had swarmed Godric’s Hollow, had followed Weasley’s back to their homes, even started creeping towards the Manor to ask Draco himself. 

Months later, they occasionally ran a small story on the latest conspiracy theories, but Harry Potter no longer dominated all conversations. Draco was relieved. It wasn’t like he was all that special anyway. He should’ve stayed with his muggles and never come into Draco’s life. 

He almost wished he could tell everyone where Harry Potter was, because that would mean he would know where to find him so he could give him everything he deserved. He had looked Draco in the eyes and told the entire Wizengamot about that night at the Manor, the torture and the fear and the scrambling mess of a fight and how Draco had looked at him and known him, and did not give him up. He told them about the night on the Astronomy Tower, and he watched as Draco realized that he had not been alone with Dumbledore after all. He looked away after that, as if he couldn’t look at Draco when he told them about his connection to Voldemort, about watching the absolute power he had over the Malfoys, about forcing Draco to do horrible things, the threats against his family, all the horrible things he saw through that monster’s eyes. 

He’d been allowed to sit in on his mother’s trial as well, and once again he stared as Harry Potter told a story about Narcissa saving his life, of her unwavering love for her son, knowing that if she could keep Potter alive, she could see her son again. 

Draco and his mother had then sat side-by-side, no longer facing imprisonment, as Harry Potter once more stood in front of the Wizengamot. He did not look at Draco even once this time. His voice was darker, his eyes brighter, and Draco saw his hand stray to his wand every so often. When he spoke, he didn’t start where Draco expected. Instead, he described a certain diary being slipped into an eleven year old girl’s cauldron, leading to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and his second encounter with Voldemort. He never paused in his narrative, skipping forward to fourth year, when he was tricked into a graveyard and pinned to a gravestone while Lucius Malfoy came crawling to his master’s call. Then the next year, when he was tricked into the Department of Mysteries and Lucius Malfoy came close to killing every one of his friends. The next year, knowing that Voldemort had taken up residence in the Manor, of the terror he had brought upon his family. 

He stopped then, like he wanted to look at Draco, but didn’t. Instead, he ended by once again recounting the events at the Manor, and ending with Lucius’ involvement in the attack on Hogwarts. Then he fell silent. “I have called for mercy on behalf of two Malfoys today because I knew that all their sins are on the shoulders of one Malfoy, and he should pay for them all.” The Wizengamot, intent on his narrative, had taken several moments to gather themselves enough to thank and dismiss him.

Harry Potter deserved as many curses as Draco could think of. How dare he stand there, pouring all his goodness onto Draco as if he deserved a shred of it. How dare he give all his sins to his father when he knew what he was doing. 

“Draco?” With a start, Draco realized he had crushed the  _ Prophet _ in his hand, and his mother was standing in the doorway, looking concerned. “Are you alright, darling?” she asked, coming to take his hand.    
“I’m quite alright, Mother. Thank you.”

She looked unconvinced but let it go. Draco glanced at the Potter-less front page, then tossed the paper away. Dwelling on Harry Potter had never gotten him anywhere. 

****

The Portkey that landed Harry Potter and his two best friends in Sydney was a rock. Ron commented on lack of originality, but Harry thought it was amusing.  _ If only Voldemort had thought of a rock _ . Once there, tt took days for them to orient themselves enough to attempt to find the Grangers, and weeks after that to actually find them. Hermione still had an owl deliver a  _ Prophet _ once a week, and it was always a week behind. It entertained them to see the theories on the disappearance of Harry Potter, but Harry was relieved when he finally looked at a copy and didn’t see himself. 

Ron, of course, had needed Hermione’s expert charms to keep from being burnt to a crisp, but both Harry’s and Hermione’s dark skin thrived under the baking sun. Being away from Britain was doing good for all of them, but Harry still couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours without nightmares waking him up, and Ron had a habit of checking on everyone’s whereabouts far too often, afraid to lose them again. Hermione had brought dozens of books in her beaded bag. She felt restless and useless when she wasn’t reading.

Once Hermione’s parents were found, she performed some complicated charm work on them to convince them back to London. After months of being away, they were finally going to go home.

****

After arriving in London, Hermione promptly Stunned her parents and took them to St. Mungo’s to get them treated and back to their normal selves. Harry and Ron were given the task of returning their belongings to Grimmauld Place, which was accomplished with much groaning. They’d decided to all stay at Grimmauld for the time being, since they weren’t going to live at the Burrow, and it didn’t make sense for Ron and Hermione to get their own place when Hermione was returning to Hogwarts for her last year. 

After moving everything in, Ron Floo’d to the Burrow. He invited Harry along, but Harry waved him off and promised to visit the Weasley’s soon. Once Ron had gone, Harry stood in the drawing room and ran his hands through his hair. The silence was pervasive in this house, a heavy thing that wrapped around you like a blanket. Harry was unaccustomed to being alone, in the quiet, with no mission before him. He took it all in for several long minutes before trudging up to the room he’d come to think of as his.

No one had seen Harry return to London, but Hermione’s and Ron’s returns were noted, and suddenly he was back in the paper. Owls began finding him again, with a combination of fan mail and requests for interviews and endless letters from various Ministry departments, asking for favors and offering jobs. He chucked them all into a pile in the drawing room and let them gather dust. 

Harry spent most of the next several days at Grimmauld. Ron and Hermione were gone most of the day, returning mostly to bring back food and share Wizarding gossip before going to sleep in their room upstairs. Hermione was visiting her parents and preparing to return to Hogwarts, a few weeks past the start of term. She was as frantic about classes as usual, and Ron reminded her about how much she’d been studying, as usual. Ron himself was helping George with the joke shop, and Harry didn’t know what to do.

For the first time, Harry had nothing. He had fulfilled his destiny, so what point was there in anything else? The Aurors were practically begging him to join them, but the thought of using his power on behalf of the Ministry made him feel sick. Hermione had asked him to return to Hogwarts, but for as much as it had once felt like home, now it felt only like death. So he spent his time cleaning Grimmauld Place, much like Molly had once made them all try to clean. Only this time, he had nothing else to do and a need to be useful, and he made more progress than they had years ago.

The only thing that made him leave was when Andromeda Tonks sent him a letter to tell him that, as Teddy’s godfather, he was welcome any time. She’d attached a picture of a small, chubby baby with a tuft of blue hair, and he found himself both smiling and crying. He remembered Remus’ last words - “ _ he will know why I died and I hope he will understand I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.” _

So Harry Floo’d to Andromeda’s place, once again pausing to remind himself that she was not her sister. It was easier to remember when she had a baby on her hip and was gently bouncing him up and down, and when she smiled warmly at Harry. “Hello dear,” she greeted. “We’re glad you came by.”    
“Thanks for, er, inviting me,” he said. “Again.” The house was the same as when he’d arrived the year previous, only Ted Tonks wasn’t there to welcome him alongside his wife.    
“Well, since you’re here, could you take him for a few minutes? I’m trying to get dinner finished.” 

Harry hesitated, and she smiled at him. “Have you ever held a baby?”   
“No, I haven’t,” he replied, and she just pressed Teddy into his arms.    
“Just don’t drop him, and feel free to sit down.” She gestured to the couch and promptly left the room. Harry stood for a moment longer, then decided sitting would be the best way to not drop him. Teddy sat on his lap, chubby legs stretched out with his little toes pressing into Harry’s belly. Harry kept his hands around his torso and watched as Teddy waved his hands towards him. 

“Hi Teddy,” he said quietly. “I’m your godfather. I promise I’ll always be here for you. Your dad - your dad said he loves you. I’ll tell you all about him, and your mum too. They loved you so much. Remus wants you to know that they were making a better world for you. I like to think the same thing about my parents, you know. I’ll tell you about them too, and all the trouble my dad got your dad in. And my godfather, who I guess is your grand-godfather, or something like that.” Teddy watched him seriously, as if he understood everything Harry was saying. Harry wasn’t even sure what he was saying or why, but Teddy didn’t seem to mind. 

“He likes you,” Andromeda remarked from the kitchen doorway, startling Harry.    
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Harry replied with a wry smile.    
“That’s alright. You’ll learn. I hope you stay for dinner?” While it seemed like a polite request, Harry wondered how often she had company these days, how lonely it must be without her husband or her daughter. He smiled and nodded.   
“Yeah, alright.”

With the exception of visiting Teddy, Harry hadn’t left Grimmauld since they’d returned to London. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to be seen in public. After two weeks, Hermione asked if he would come visit her parents, and he agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. They were still in St. Mungo’s, though the healers predicted they would be able to go home soon. Hermione Floo’d them to the hospital lobby, where they were checked in (with many stares) and sent up to one of the wards. Whispers trailed Harry, and Hermione looped her arm through his, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about her NEWTs in an obvious attempt to distract him. After all this time, the attention didn’t really bother him all that much, but he appreciated the thought.

“Hi Mum, Dad,” Hermione said as she pushed open the door to their room. Harry followed hesitantly.    
“Hermione!” her mum exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you. It must’ve been ages since we saw you.”    
“I was here yesterday, Mum, remember?” Hermione explained patiently. She had told Harry that their memory wasn’t quite to normal yet, but they were doing much better. “Do you remember my friend Harry?” Mrs. Granger noticed him then and smiled.   
“Of course. It’s good to see you.”   
“It’s good to see you too. Both of you,” he said, glancing at Mr. Granger, who was watching his wife and daughter with a small smile.

He sat nearby while Hermione talked to her parents, letting himself be dragged into the conversation every now and then. He was just getting bored when a nurse walked in and announced that it was time for another dose of potions, and Harry turned to see the nurse walk in, followed by an all-too familiar face. 


	2. Chapter 2 - The Meeting

Harry Potter had returned to London, and once again his face was staring at Draco from the front page of the  _ Prophet _ . He read enough to know that no one had actually  _ seen _ him, only that his friends had reappeared, which meant he had to show up somewhere, sometime. Draco threw the paper down and resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair. The last thing he needed was to look a mess before his shift at the hospital.

The papers had run stories on the Malfoy heir working, and at a hospital no less. He didn’t particularly care what the papers said, or what his coworkers said behind his back or even to his face. He apparated to St. Mungo’s every morning and descended into the basement, where his workstation awaited. The hospital was in need of a constant supply of various potions, and a list was waiting for him to begin work on, as well as a brew that had been simmering for the last several days. Despite the animosity towards him, it was easy for him to forget about all of it when he was at his station. It was set just slightly apart from the others, giving him space and privacy without seeming too aloof.

“Malfoy,” Johnson yelled, and he looked up to see the director of the potions lab walking towards him.   
“Yes, sir?” Draco asked.   
“Someone forgot to deliver potions to the fourth floor this morning. Take them up, and move quick.”   
“Yes, sir,” Draco repeated and pushed away from his station to walk to the back of the basement, where the potions closet was charmed to keep potions fresh. Using a levitation charm in combination with a stabilizing charm, he collected the potions needed for the fourth floor and carefully wove back through the workroom and up the stairs, all the way up to the fourth floor.

“Finally!” one of the Healers exclaimed when he walked out of the stairwell. “Follow me, and make sure you don’t spill any of those.” Having expected to simply drop them off, Draco frowned but followed anyways, letting her pluck the appropriate potions from the air and deliver them to the appropriate rooms. When only three remained, she gestured for him to follow her into the last room.

“Time for potions!” she said cheerily, and Draco was too busy keeping the potions safe to notice, at first, the bright green eyes that had immediately found him. When he did, he very nearly released the spell, recovering in time to direct the vials to a table. He looked at Harry Potter again, then spun on his heel and walked back towards the stairs.

****

The last time Harry saw Malfoy, he’d been fuming over the course of three trials, staring Harry down as if daring him to keep talking. He’d been relieved when both Draco and Narcissa had been released, and even more relieved upon hearing Lucius was doomed to a lifetime in Azkaban. Draco, on the other hand, had looked vaguely like he wanted to murder him.

So when he walked out without a word, Harry made his excuses to Hermione and followed after him. “Malfoy,” he called, and saw him flinch before turning to face him.   
“Potter,” he said coldly. “I have work to do, so whatever it is you think you have to say to me, get it out quickly.”   
“I just - I wanted to see if you’re alright. And what you’re doing here.”   
“I work here,” he replied, and noticed Harry glance at his robes, which were not Healer-green. “In the potions department downstairs,” he clarified.    
“You always were good at potions,” Harry said, somewhat absentmindedly.   
“And you were terrible at them. What’s your point?”   
“Nothing, only that it’s a good job for you. They don’t give you any trouble, do they?”

Malfoy sighed and crossed his arms. “Of course they give me trouble. I’m a Malfoy and I have a Dark Mark on my arm. Not that you would care.”   
“I kept you out of Azkaban.”   
“And you never cared enough to ask if that’s what I  _ wanted _ . You just wanted to  _ save _ me,” he sneered. “Your hero complex wasn’t satisfied with  _ most _ of the Wizarding World; you just had to sweep out all the dark corners and make sure we wouldn’t be forgotten.”

Harry frowned, feeling the old animosity rising within him. “You really would have preferred to go to Azkaban?” he asked, incredulous. “You’re dumber than the typical Malfoy.”   
“It’s not your place to judge me. Or my parents for that matter. So piss off.” This time, when Malfoy turned on his heel, he immediately bumped into someone, who reached out to steady him, pushing up his sleeve at the same time. Harry knew what was about to happen as soon as the wizard’s eyes fell on the Dark Mark. His hands tightened on Malfoy’s arms, and the younger boy didn’t appear inclined to fight back at all. 

“What the bloody hell is a Death Eater doing in the hospital?” the man growled.   
“I work here,” Draco replied, but his voice was weaker than it had been when it was directed at Harry.    
“You piece of shit-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because in moments he had been Stunned into silence. Draco spun, immediately locking eyes with Harry. He hadn’t moved, not even to pull out his wand, and the air was crackling with magic. But what drew Draco’s attention most was the fury in his eyes. He made eye contact with Draco, then looked over his shoulder. 

“Next person who has a go at Malfoy deals with me,” he said. His voice was back to that low, dangerous tone. He spoke quietly and yet everyone in the corridor immediately hurried to leave.    
“Have you satisfied your hero complex yet, or are you going to follow me all the way down to the basement and make sure I don’t stub my toe?” Draco said, hoping the waver in his voice wasn’t as obvious to Potter as it was to him. Potter frowned, that remarkable fury only slightly cooled. He looked at Draco for a moment longer, then turned to return to his friends without a word.

Draco only made it to the third floor before he had to step into the men’s, bracing himself against the sinks. He had a flash of familiarity and almost expected Potter to step through the door after him. He almost wished he did. He almost wished he could look at what that scrawny kid had grown into, able to cast a powerful Stunning spell without so much as a wand or a word. Moreover, the  _ aim _ of it was impeccable. Wandless, wordless magic so easily went wrong, but that blistering heat had passed harmlessly over Draco’s shoulder, a gentle caress on its way. And that fury on his face, making his eyes so bright and so intense.

He became aware of the tightening in his belly and pushed off the sink. It was one thing to wank to the thought of men, and it was entirely another to be aroused by nothing but Harry Potter’s power. And the way his lean muscles tensed, suddenly too big for the corridor. Draco cursed and tried to push the image out of his mind.  _ I have work to do _ , he reminded himself sternly. He leaned forward to splash cold water over his face and rearrange his hair. Drawing himself up, he returned to his work station.

****

Hermione didn’t say anything when he returned, but the expression on her face told Harry that he would be doing a great deal of explaining later. He sat quietly while she finished with her parents, and gave them a half-hearted farewell, and then he and Hermione were walking back down the corridor. The man he’d Stunned had been removed, and one of the Healers noticed Harry and gave out a small squeak. He sighed but moved on. Hermione gave him another look, but he ignored it for the moment.

They Floo’d back to Grimmauld, and Harry set about making lunch while Hermione stood in the kitchen, arms crossed and tapping her foot. “Just ask,” Harry finally sighed, waving his wand to get the stove going.    
“What happened after you followed Malfoy?” she asked immediately.    
“I just wanted to talk to him, I swear,” Harry said. “I was talking to him fairly civilly, even though he didn’t return the favor, until someone noticed-” he trailed off a moment. “Someone noticed the Dark Mark and he didn’t even try to defend himself so I Stunned the guy.”   
“Oh Harry, you can’t just-”   
“I know, okay? I know, but I was so mad.”

Hermione studied him a moment. “Why? Malfoy’s hardly been good to you.”   
“You know my reasons for speaking at his trial. Lucius was sentenced for the sins of his family. Malfoy has been absolved, but they’re still going to treat him like dirt.”   
“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice soft now, “wizards have long memories and longer grudges. He is the only man with a Dark Mark who isn’t dead or in Azkaban. Most people never got to confront the Death Eaters who hurt their friends and family, so he’s their scapegoat.”   
“He said - he said he didn’t ask to be saved from Azkaban. Is that what he meant? That now he’s the only target?”

Hermione sighed and put her hand on Harry’s arm. “I can’t say for sure, but sometimes it’s easier for people to be punished rather than have to face all the people who know their crimes. What was he doing there, anyway?”   
“He has a job in the potions department,” Harry replied quietly. Hermione recognized the tone of his voice immediately.   
“Harry, do not blame yourself for anything. You have done everything you can for Malfoy. It’s his mess and he can fix it himself.”   
“What if someone hurts him? That would be my fault.” He didn’t look at Hermione. He didn’t want to see pity on her face, but she looked at him with love and empathy.   
“If he gets hurt, he will heal. He will still see his mother, and he will still brew potions and perhaps one day he’ll find friends and something to live for. If he was in Azkaban, he wouldn’t have any of those options.”

She put her arms around him. “You did the right thing, Harry. You did the right thing.” He collapsed into her embrace, and despite being inches taller, Harry felt as if he could hide in her embrace. Hermione closed her eyes and smoothed his black hair. The war was over but the pain and guilt still plagued him in ways that no one else could understand. Well, perhaps one other person, but she didn’t think they’d ever find a way to reconcile.


	3. Chapter 3 - Correspondence

The next day, a copy of the  _ Prophet _ had been left on the kitchen table, presumably by either Ron or Hermione before they left for the day. Of course a new picture of Harry graced the  _ Prophet’s _ front page. This was a picture of him moments after Stunning that man, and he almost didn’t recognize himself. The back of Malfoy’s head drifted into frame near the end of the loop, but not his face. He quickly read through the article as it announced Harry’s return to Wizarding society and described the scene at the hospital. It mentioned that he was accompanied by Hermione, but didn’t say anything about her parents. It speculated over why he was protecting Malfoy, from testifying at his trial to physically defending him. Harry tossed it away and set about making tea, grumbling to himself about Rita Skeeter’s sources and speculations. 

Another owl swooped in through the open window and landed on the table, waiting patiently. Harry sighed and impatiently took the envelope, expecting more ministry officials and gushing love letters, but was surprised to see the Malfoy seal. Carefully, he split it open and removed the parchment. 

_ Dear Mr. Potter, _

_ As you may be aware of by now, a story regarding my son has been published in today’s  _ Daily Prophet.  _ As I’m sure you can understand, he has worked very hard to stay out of the public view. He does not need your help, and you may find that it is best that you stay away from him lest one of you forget how old you are and resort to childish fights.  _

_ This is not to say that I am not grateful for what you have done for us, but I will not allow my family’s sins to follow my son for the rest of his life. _

_ Regards, _

_ Narcissa Malfoy _

 

Harry’s head was reeling somewhat, and he carefully reread the letter. Correspondence from Narcissa Malfoy was hardly what he had been expecting, but he had to admit that she was right. Before that morning, he hadn’t seen Malfoy in the paper since the trials. He hadn’t been paying close attention, but still. Frowning, he tucked the letter into his pocket and set about finishing his breakfast, preparing for another long day of cleaning and thinking too much.

The letter in his pocket was like an itch just out of reach, and when he took a break for lunch, he snagged paper from his room and wrote as he ate.

 

_ Mrs. Malfoy, _

_ You are correct in assuming that I understand wanting to stay out of the papers. I promise that I had no intention of dragging your son into anything when I encountered him at the hospital. He may have told you, but a man saw his Dark Mark and was about to get violent, and Draco didn’t seem inclined to protect himself. I can only assume the consequences of a Malfoy injuring someone, even in self-defense, so I stepped in. I may have been overzealous with my intervention, but only because I’ve had enough of seeing people get hurt. _

_ I apologize for any negative impact I have had on you and your family. _

_ Regards, _

_ Harry Potter _

 

He sealed the letter and went upstairs to hand it off to his owl before returning downstairs to clean up lunch and continue his cleaning journey.

Neither Ron or Hermione had any talent for cooking, nor did they have much time on their hands, so Harry made it a habit to have dinner ready by the time they came home. Mrs. Weasley had sent him some Wizarding cookbooks, and he found that while magic was nice, there were certain things that he felt he had to do himself. Hermione, occasionally home before Ron, liked to perch on the kitchen table with a cup of tea and watch him. She told him it was a bit like watching someone dance. 

Spending time with his best friends always helped Harry out of whatever mood he was in, and tonight was no exception. He finished off the pasta and veggies, ducking the energetic plates and cups Ron sent flying from the cabinets and laughing as Hermione lectured her boyfriend on proper wand technique. “Hey, save your wand technique for the bedroom, yeah?” Harry said, earning a whack from Hermione and an impressive blush from Ron. He grinned and turned to dish out the pasta. 

As they were sitting down to eat, a tap at the window drew their attention to a handsome owl, the same one that had delivered Narcissa Malfoy’s first letter. Harry stood to let him in, giving him a gentle stroke before taking the letter and seeing him off. When he looked up, Hermione was squinting at the seal on the back, and he sighed and slid it over to her. They’d get the truth out of him eventually.

“Why is Malfoy writing to you?” Hermione asked, handing the letter back to Harry.    
“Narcissa isn’t pleased that I’ve dragged her son back into the papers,” Harry replied, absentmindedly twirling pasta around his fork.    
“You’re joking,” Ron said. “Really, she’s worried about that little git?”   
“She is his mother, Ronald,” Hermione admonished, but she looked at Harry with a question in her eyes. “I assume that you wrote back, then? And now she’s writing back to you?”   
“Yeah, I s’pose.” 

Hermione bit her lip, then seemed to make a decision about something and returned to eating. Ron’s nose was doing that wrinkly thing it did whenever he was working out how much he wanted to argue with Harry about something. After a glance at Hermione, he rolled his eyes and began eating. Harry was glad they let it go, at least for now, and let the letter sit on the table until after they’d eaten and cleaned up all the dishes. Hermione mumbled something about reading, and Ron followed her upstairs. 

Leaning against the table, Harry opened Narcissa’s latest letter.

_ Mr. Potter, _

_ I understand the desire to protect people from harm. It’s true that Draco can do very little to protect himself and there is even less that I can do for him. However, you cannot be there every time he needs defending, and so a single intervention does nothing for him, particularly if it draws attention to him again. Your influence can only go so far. You and the Wizengamot have absolved him but many others have not, and cannot find it within themselves to do so. We are the only enemies who remain.  _

_ You may find a similar experience, only that you are the only hero who remains.  _

_ Regards, _

_ Narcissa Malfoy _

****

Draco stared at Potter’s picture in the paper for far longer than was appropriate, but it made him relive that moment. He felt fear and acceptance when the man grabbed him, waiting for it to just be over. He felt a caress against his cheek followed by the absence of gripping hands. He saw Potter seething and heard the danger in his voice, so bright and violent it nearly hurt. He knew what it was like to be under Potter’s protection, entirely at his mercy. Draco couldn’t do anything for himself, leaving Harry Potter to decide exactly how much pain Draco deserved to be in. 

Gritting his teeth, he tossed the paper aside, feeling fire burn through him. He was so sick of living the life Harry Potter chose for him, but there was no other choice. Once again, he was trapped.  _ Potter _ . He shook off the thoughts and Apparated to work.

As he was crossing the lobby, he looked up and saw Hermione Granger with a stack of books in her arms, her hair just as wild as ever. She made eye contact with him and seemed to hesitate. “Malfoy,” she greeted, tone cool but civil. He hesitated a moment.   
“Granger,” he finally said back, mimicking her tone. She looked at him with a hint of amusement and continued walking towards the stairs. “Granger,” Draco repeated, unsure of what he was going to say next. She paused and turned to face him. “Are your parents well?” he asked, hating himself for speaking and hating himself for not speaking more.

Granger didn’t sneer or yell, but her words were careful. “They are doing much better now, thanks to the Healers. They should be able to go home tomorrow.”   
“That’s - that’s good.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just, that is, I was wondering-”   
“Why muggles are being treated here,” she finished. Her emotion was hard to read, but he knew he was standing in dangerous waters.   
“I was wondering why something magical happened to your parents,” he said. Granger blinked at him.    
“I erased their memories, gave them new names, and made them decide to move to Australia before we went on the run from Voldemort last year,” she replied. The shock of the truth and the matter-of-fact tone she used in combination with the weight of Granger telling it to Draco left his mouth hanging open.

“Well, they’re expecting me. Have a nice day.” She turned to ascend the stairs, and Draco stood rooted in place. Just as she was about to take the first step, she turned again. “And Malfoy?” She caught his gaze before continuing. “Harry has enough guilt to shoulder without adding yours.”   
“What guilt?” Draco replied, suddenly defensive. There was a softness in Granger’s eyes.   
“For being the one who got a second chance.” This time, when she turned, she didn’t stop to look back.

 

****

The last line of Narcissa’s letter weighed heavy on Harry for three days while he thought about what to write back. He had to admit that she was right: for as much as Ron and Hermione, and all the Order, and all the people in the war had helped, he was the one people thought of. He was the one who defied Voldemort over and over. He was the one who killed him, in the end. He’d considered the idea that Malfoy was the sole embodiment of Death Eaters to the public, but hadn’t considered that he was the entire side of good to them. 

So when Ron and Hermione got home, he told them they were going out. They shared a look, then Hermione looked at him with that careful, approaching-a-hippogriff-look. “What did you have in mind?”   
“I thought we could go to the Leaky Cauldron, get a few drinks, maybe something to eat. It’s the last night before you go back to Hogwarts and we lose you to your books and your papers for the next several months. Let’s celebrate.”   
“Well, McGonagall informed me that they’ll be starting on chapter 4 tomorrow and I’ve only read it once so far, I’d planned on rewriting my notes…” she trailed off when she saw the look on the boys’ faces. “Alright, fine, I suppose I can do it on the ride over from Hogsmeade.”

Harry grinned and looked at Ron, who just shook his head. “If even Hermione can agree to it, then I’d be mad to turn up the opportunity. Let’s go.”

A wave of silence spread across the room when Harry and his friends walked in. Dozens of faces turned to look at them. In the silence, Harry said, “Would you go find us a table? I’ll get the drinks. Ron, your usual?” Ron nodded, and Harry looked at Hermione, who nodded as well.   
“Great,” he said, and split off to weave through the tables towards the bar. As soon as he reached it, the pub erupted in noise again. The bartender was already waiting for him, and Harry rattled off the usual order.   
“Of course, Mr. Potter,” he said, and Harry scrunched his nose.   
“Please, just Harry. Mr. Potter was my grandfather.” He smiled at his own joke, thinking of how many times James must’ve referred to his father that way. The bartender smiled back and turned to get their drinks.

“We were starting to think you’d buggered off.” Harry glanced at the man leaning against the bar next to him. He was an older bloke, eyeing Harry with something he couldn’t quite name.   
“It’s been a busy few months,” he replied. The man nodded as if he understood. Perhaps he did.

He used a Levitation charm to carry the three drinks. Ron’s and Hermione’s landed gracefully in front of them, and he snagged the handle of his own out of the air. He had just sat down when a body fell into the seat beside him. When he looked up, swearing, the first thing he saw was a hole surrounded by red hair. “Merlin George, you could give a bloke a little warning next time.” His Butterbeer had sloshed over the rim and he waved his wand carelessly to clean it up.    
“You’re the one who decided to come out of hiding and didn’t invite me,” George replied. “I also brought Angelina.” From the other side of George, Angelina gave him a thumbs up.

“Sorry George,” Harry replied, “it was a bit of a last minute thing. Besides, Ron clearly looped you in.”   
“Ah, he isn’t such a terrible little brother all the time,” he said, and Ron’s shouted “Oi!” only made him laugh.   
“How about a drink on me, to apologize for the lack of invitation?”

“Won’t say no to that,” George grinned. Harry passed over a few coins and Angelina stood to get drinks for them. Harry watched her go.

“So, Angelina?” Harry asked, and George squinted at him.   
“Mate, we’ve been dating for months.”   
“I’ve been a little preoccupied,” he protested. George just waved him off.   
“Speaking of girls…” George started, upon which Ron made a gagging noise.   
“Don’t start talking about girls with him. Do you not remember the snogfest between him and our little sister?”   
“Aw come on baby brother, Harry could have any girl in here. And maybe he has.” He gave Harry a nudge with his elbow, and Harry just shook his head.    
“I really haven’t. And Ginny’s at Hogwarts.”

Not that it mattered anyway. After all the funerals and memorials, he and Ginny had realized that without tragedy and war, there just wasn’t the same spark. He still considered her to be a friend, one he cared deeply about, but in the end they weren’t right for each other,

By the time he came out of his thoughts, the subject had changed to brooms, and he quickly joined an ever-livening debate. After a few minutes, he remembered that Hermione would feel excluded, only to look over and see her talking to a blonde witch wearing a Weird Sisters shirt. Hermione met his eyes. Her smile told him that she was alright. “Harry, this is Lettie. She’s one of my parent’s healers at Mungo’s. She’s really good at explaining the memory treatments.”   
“Good to meet you,” he greeted, then heard a comment about the next Firebolt model and immediately jumped into Angelina’s debate.

***

Draco most certainly did not pick up the  _ Prophet _ with the hopes of seeing Potter, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t see him on the front page. He thumbed through and something caught his eye. Unfolding the paper properly, he found a picture that tried to focus on the Golden Boy but was thwarted by Granger’s hair. He skimmed the short article below. Apparently, Potter out with his friends wasn’t quite front page material, but the fact that it was in the paper at all said something about his fame.

Draco watched as picture-Harry turned to look at Granger, almost at the camera, and grinned. His hair was as unkempt as ever, and the light in his eyes was happier than when Draco had run into him at the hospital.

It was disgusting. Of course Harry Potter still had friends to go out with and still had reasons for smiling like the goddamn sun. Remembering Granger’s words about guilt, he snorted and dropped the paper onto the table. There was no trace of guilt in Potter’s face, which was entirely unfair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!   
> This is my first fic I've actually been dedicated to, and I really appreciate the responses I've gotten so far. Let me know what you think!


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